


Suna VS Osamu: The Final Round

by SilverMoonT



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Third Year Miya Osamu, Third Year Suna Rintarou, osasunaweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoonT/pseuds/SilverMoonT
Summary: "Want me to tell ya a secret that is not really a secret 'cuz everyone knows it?""What?""Yer beautiful.""It can't be a secret if everyone knows it.""D'you know why is it a secret?""Why?""Because I think yer beautiful."
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 254
Collections: SunaOsa





	Suna VS Osamu: The Final Round

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2: Prompt: midnight / secrets

_It's all fun and games until you fall in love._

A grimace takes hold of Suna’s face as soon as he sees the tip of the bottle pointing at him. Osamu casts him a serious look as Atsumu is the one to hold a smile from ear to ear, his typical, winning smirk. His personal signature.

"C’mon, c’mon, Sunarin."

He is the first to get up and Suna is forced to follow his steps because Atsumu takes his hands in his, not giving him the chance to escape from the situation after dragging him along with him to the place of the house where they keep the cleaning stuff. A small space that’s already uncomfortable for one person, so Suna can only let out a sigh as he checks for himself the absence of air once Atsumu closes the door behind them since on that occasion, two is worse than one. He knows that he could pretend he is suffocating —maybe he is suffocating—, but he also knows that Atsumu won’t believe him.

Suna interrupts the darkness after taking his phone out of his hoodie's pocket, the brightness against his face making him blink a few times before he can focus on the screen. Atsumu complains but he doesn’t pay attention to him because more than seven minutes in heaven, for him it will be seven minutes in hell. He looks at the time.

Not even a minute has passed.

"Dare to touch a single hair of mine and your future as a setter will be ruined because I will break your hand, Miya." He doesn’t doubt to mention with his eyes on his phone.

"How rude."

“I won’t stop being rude just because we are not teammates anymore."

"Auch."

Suna finally lifts his head up to watch him and Atsumu closes his eyes when he lights his face with the screen of his phone, although later Suna blocks it and keeps it to cross his arms over his chest. The only trace of light comes from the line created between the space between the floor and the end of the door. Their chests don’t brush just for a few inches and Suna is sure that if he moves with enough force, he can make a headbutt look like an accident. He is considering it. He is always considering it.

"Are ya melancholic already, Sunarin?" Atsumu asks him.

"You just said auch."

"It was ironic."

"I know."

It had only been a few hours since their graduation, since their time wearing a black uniform had finally ended, officially and forever. They had already graduated and now there were photos of them, caught memories filling Suna's phone gallery. They had received their diplomas, the same ones indicating that now they only have a couple of months before their lives outside of school finally become a reality, the last three years remaining on their shoulders.

"You will miss the name Miya, you’ll see."

"I don’t think so."

"I didn't say it for me."

Suna looks at him. He actually looks at nothing. Darkness. But he knows that Atsumu is aware that he is looking at him. Seriously, unbothered, bored.

It’s true that their last year of high school has allowed their friendship to grow, and if now they are able to treat each other with that level of confidence and to find themselves in that tiny space without feeling uncomfortable, it’s because having been chosen as the team leaders during their last year has forced them to trust each other. If they don't understand or listen to each other, then the team won’t work, and the memories of their team winning nationals, and the gold medals that now they have, are the proof that the communication between them has been considered essential, as well as the teamwork and the jokes they have learned to make with each other despite of having to be responsible.

"Yer silent." Atsumu mentions.

"Because I don't want to talk to you."

"Or ‘cuz you know I'm right."

Suna decides to uncross his arms to move his hand without caring about not being able to see, and one of the corners of his mouth lifts when his hand meets Atsumu's chest and Atsumu complains about the punch at the same time that he crosses his arms again. "Why did you drag me here? It's such a stupid game, I don’t get why you looked so excited." Suna asks him.

"Well, ya know very well that you could have escaped, but ya didn't. You also chose to play."

Suna rolls his eyes, but Atsumu is right. He won’t say out loud.

Both Atsumu and Osamu —better said Atsumu alone, leaving Osamu no other option— have decided to offer their house that night so that their classmates and they can celebrate the graduation, not having to spend more time inside the classrooms, with the same teachers, and with the same uniform. It’s the graduation post party, and despite being locked up, they can still hear the chatter of the people talking as well as the low music that accompanies the night. It's a small gathering, one last time for everyone to be together after they disperse and probably won't hear from each other again unless it's through social media or awkward meetings in the middle of the grocery store.

"You still haven't answered my question." Suna reminds him.

"’Cuz ‘Samu looked at us seriously, and if you won’t do something, I will."

"Who do you think you are? Cupid?" Suna arches an eyebrow. "Also. I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing to do." He rolls his eyes and leaves his head against the wall behind him, his arms sinking into his chest.

"Please, Sunarin."

"What?"

"Seeing the two of you... it’s painful."

"Seeing you for three years in a row. That's painful."

Suna is sure that Atsumu rolls his eyes because he doesn't laugh, and when Atsumu doesn't laugh, he rolls his eyes. He pursues his lips and then bites his lower lip because he doesn't want to let a sigh leave his lips.

If it’s painful for Atsumu to see them, it’s painful for him to feel it.

"I'm just sayin’," Atsumu begins, his tone of voice being the same he has always used every time they have sat down to talk about the team throughout the year. "That today is our last night. After today, everything changes."

"Don't talk like the world is going to collapse, it's just summer holidays."

"And after that?" Atsumu asks him, and Suna pursues his lips. "’Samu stays, I go, and you go even further."

"Now who is the one being melancholic, Atsumu."

"Maybe the two of us."

Suna lets out a fake laugh and rolls his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You don't seem to be aware of your reality."

"Or maybe I am aware and that's why I don't do anything."

"What d'you mean?"

Suna looks at him again —he looks at nothing, darkness. What he least wants is to be talking about his feelings in a small room with Atsumu just a few inches away from his face when all the night —or rather all the year—, he has been able to keep the same ones behind his serious expression and dedication to volleyball.

Feelings.

"I don't play dumb, you don't play dumb." Suna says.

"Sunarin. We’re not dumb, and the only thing we play, is volleyball."

Suna stays serious. "We are literally playing a game right now."

"What I mean, is. My brother offers ya his food the few times you say you’re hungry. What else d'you need? What more do you need?"

"I need you to stay out of this."

"And see how you and my brother pretend not to feel anythin'?"

"Out of this." Suna repeats.

Atsumu huffs and Suna rolls his eyes.

Pretending not to feel anything.

Suna doesn’t pretend, he hides.

He doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t find it entertaining to spend his time with Osamu since he never refuses when he invites him to spend an afternoon at his house to study or simply because he does. He doesn’t pretend that silence is not comfortable because if there is something Osamu has taught him, it’s that the absence of words can be as interesting as a great conversation. But he hides. He hides the excitement behind his text messages or his neutral expression when Osamu invites him to his house, and not someone else. He hides the tranquility that Osamu transmits to him when the two are together, sometimes with food in between, sometimes with a volley ball, other times with study books. Sometimes with nothing.

He likes Osamu and he knows that while he can't delegate all his emotions to the fact that that year has been their last playing together, he can shift much of the blame to all those last days. Every practice, every afternoon spent blocking balls and players, practicing receives, spiking all the balls that Atsumu has lifted for him, sometimes Osamu. _"I wanna **win** this year. Win. I want revenge. Don’t look at me like that. Yes, revenge. And I want ‘Samu to finish his volleyball years with a gold medal."_ were the words that Atsumu had expressed to him before the first practice of their last year, he being chosen as the captain and he his vice-captain. _"Me too."_ Suna had assured him.

Atsumu is Osamu's brother, twin.

He?

He is Osamu’s best friend.

Best friend.

Suna bites his lower lip. Oh how it hurts.

He knows he can't really complain too much. Being Osamu's best friend involves spending time with him, being accepted by him, being chosen by him. But it also implies limits, frustrated feelings and hidden emotions. Smiles as honest as false, gestures as simple as complicated, and moments as fast as slow.

"Look, I don't want ya to end up like me and Kita-san."

Suna looks at him when he hears him and sees darkness, but he also sees Atsumu.

"We are not you and Kita-san."

"I know, and that's why I want you two to talk."

Talk. He talks with Osamu all the time.

Suna chooses to take his phone out of his hoodie and arches an eyebrow. "Ten minutes."

Three minutes more than necessary.

"Talkin’ with me is always entertaining, Sunarin." Atsumu mentions when Suna opens the door, finding the party just as they had left it. "But just for this time, I’ll say that talkin' to my brother is more interesting."

Suna rolls his eyes and looks at him. He really has to stop rolling his eyes if he doesn’t want them to hurt later. Now he can see Atsumu giving him a smile as sincere as false, one that says _listen to me ‘cause I said those words out loud and ya know that I don’t talk like that ‘bout my brother if there’s someone listening to me_. Suna narrows his gaze and they both come out of the supply closet.

He looks around, not finding Osamu in the round they had formed to play the game that had eventually led him to find himself locked up for more than seven minutes with Atsumu, who at that moment nudges him. Suna looks at him but Atsumu only points to the hallway with his head. Everyone knows that they can’t go there, but Suna is not just anyone.

"You know, you two could talk, too." Suna says to Atsumu, leaving him open-mouthed before choosing to stop being by his side and head down the hall.

He believes that there’s a certain irony accompanying Atsumu's words.

Atsumu tells him to speak to his brother while over and over again he has had to listen to him complain, being sad that he regrets not having tried something with Kita. Atsumu is almost regretful, because in reality Atsumu is never able to admit that he is completely, one hundred percent, totally sorry; but he is not. He is not sorry, because he and Osamu are best friends, and a few extra words can change a lot as well as a lot of words can change little. He has dreamt, had nightmares after imagining himself changing his relationship with Osamu just because he can’t keep his mouth shut.

Words are complicated, lies too, feelings are confusing.

Suna knows it and for the same reason he chooses to run his gaze when Osamu looks at him because he doesn’t realize it and has remained with his gaze on him, his hair as gray as black, his sleepy but determined gaze when he wants to, gray, the same shade of his hair when they choose to move out of the gym to sunbathe, and brown when he sleeps over at that house where he finds himself again. He knows that a single word can bring down his reality as well as more than one re-create it. He is careful when speaking and acting, because just as he is able to read people, he is also able to read himself. He reads, he forces himself to stop, and to get through it no matter what.

Instead of touching the door in front of which he finally stops, he simply chooses to open and then close it behind him, and raises both eyebrows when Osamu looks at him because surely he wouldn’t have hesitated to kick out the person who had passed the limits they had established, but after realizing that it’s Suna, he again looks at the screen of his phone since he is used to Suna passing all his limits in some way or another.

Suna watches him lying on his bed with his phone in hand.

"Is the party boring for you?" He asks him, trying to tease him.

"Ya know I don't like ‘em." Osamu answers.

"I know."

He knows.

Suna approaches him and turns off the light on Osamu’s bedside table.

"Watcha doin'?" Osamu rests his gaze on him, his face lit up by his phone.

"I come here to play seven minutes in heaven with you."

Both keep seeing each other because the curtains are open and the lights at the entrance to the house are on, they can even hear a slight murmur thanks to the people who are chatting in that part of the house. Osamu watches Suna move his hands, gesturing him to move, and despite being confused, his left shoulder finds the coldness of the wall to allow Suna to lie down next to him. The two of them turn to stay on their sides and Osamu uses his elbow as a pillow as he allows Suna to use his real pillow to also leave one of his hands under it. Their phones now remain in their pockets, forgotten, they no longer matter. Suna looks at him and Osamu looks at him.

"I don't wanna play." Osamu assures him.

"Let's not play then." Suna shrugs and Osamu adjusts himself.

"Isn't this a game?"

Suna thinks about his question. Is he talking about that moment or the relationship between them? Can he really think of the relationship between them as a game? There is certainly a round trip of moments of trust, tension, and relaxation. Sometimes they trust each other to stay that way, the distance between them being small. Sometimes they find themselves looking at each other to then pretend they haven’t surprised each other, and sometimes they give each other looks that leave much to be desired. Sometimes the gestures are so subtle that they hardly stand out, like resting a head on a shoulder or a hand on a thigh.

"Do you want it to be?" Suna asks him.

Osamu stares at him, and wants to drown in the gold of his pupils. Maybe he already does, maybe he's already doing it, maybe he's been doing it for a long time. He stays serious, somewhat annoyed, irritated that parties are not really his thing, and if he has to be honest, he doesn’t care about half the people in his house. But his brother is his brother, and just as sometimes he wants him to bump into a door, other times he lets him get away with whatever he wants.

Other times Atsumu gives him no choice but to force him to get away with it.

Minutes ago, he had had to see his brother taking Suna so that they both lock themselves in the closet, leaving him and Gin sharing a look with each other because the smile on his brother's face had been too big to be completely honest. He knows that Atsumu likes Kita, and while sometimes they can only fight, they both know that are some codes just can’t be broken.

He and Atsumu are always fighting. And therefore, he has to win.

He has to raise the bet.

"I don't want just seven minutes from you." He assures Suna.

"What do you want?"

More.

More. He wants so much more. "I want more."

It’s true that most people believe that Atsumu is the more determined of the two because he always keeps training, he practices not knowing what being satisfied means, he always asks for more, and he doesn’t know what it’s to stay on the same level. But he knows, he is aware, and doesn’t intend to change, the fact that if there is something else that unites him to Atsumu more than a last name, blood, and an identical face, it’s that both have equally, and totally, embraced the concept of determination. Since while Atsumu already has an official team chasing him, he has already planned what to do with his life. Learn, cook, and make people happy, make himself happy. He knows it, he wants it, he cherishes it, and he wants it to come true. Not everyone is able to tell Atsumu Miya, his brother, his twin, sometimes setter first and human second, that he doesn’t want to continue volleyball because their determination is the same but their passion is different. Osamu knows that he is determined.

"More?" Suna asks him, a little bit confused.

"Seven lives."

It's not much. Maybe it’s too much. Is it little? He doesn't care about the answer.

"Like cats." Suna comments, and Osamu raises one of the corners of his mouth because of course Suna turns something as serious in his head into a comment as simple and funny, silly as the fact that cats have seven lives.

"But yer a fox," Osamu smiles. "That ugly fox."

Suna rolls his eyes before choosing to lie down with his back on the mattress, resting his gaze on the grayish color of the ceiling and then turning his head to look at him. "You think I'm ugly?"

Osamu looks at him. Perhaps there are ulterior motives behind those words organized in the form of a question to make him the one to answer it. There are no second words that show that his sentence has been taken seriously, but a simple challenge. Answer with the truth, and I will read you. Answer with a lie, and I will still read you. Osamu knows that Suna is an expert on reading people, he knows it better than anyone because he also has the same ability, perhaps on a less level, less complicated and with less speed. But if Suna can read him, he can read Suna.

Osamu allows their gazes to meet. "Nah." He says, without having to hide something behind that expression. He opts to detach his torso from the mattress after leaving his elbows on it, and continues to look at Suna. They are still at the same distance, close and yet so far. How difficult everything is, Osamu thinks. Temptation is hard to control but he knows how to do it, he has learned to do so. It’s true that sometimes he gives up and at three in the morning he appears in his kitchen because both his stomach and his head assure him that he wants a slice of pizza, but other times he is the one to win when he manages to overcome his own desires. "Ya want me to tell ya a secret that is not really a secret 'cuz everyone knows it?"

"What?"

"Yer beautiful."

Suna Rintarou is beautiful. Possessor of the type of beauty that attracts attention as well as looks. Defined but graceful and delicate facial features, strong when they should be, and soft when they have no choice. Vulnerable when illuminated by a palette of blue hues, and bright under a hot summer afternoon. Osamu knows that he really has to be stupid to ignore the attraction that characterizes Suna because perhaps Suna is aware of it. Three years in a row being classmates and teammates, he has to be blind not to have seen all the letters with hearts that have appeared in Suna’s desk and all the girls looking for a moment alone with him to express aloud feelings that later are transformed into sadness because always, always; Suna has come back with his hands in his pockets and a neutral expression on his face.

"It can't be a secret if everyone knows it."

Suna Rintarou is beautiful. You can tell him that he is beautiful, and he will tell you that part of your sentence has been poorly formulated.

"D'you know why is it a secret?"

"Why?"

"Because _I_ think yer beautiful."

Golden eyes sometimes accompanied by a greenish trail when the indicated light appears. A small nose with a tip he has learned to touch with the tip of his finger so that the accompanying frown disappears and with it the irritation that has led Suna to remain serious. Sharp yet attractive cheekbones, pale skin that meets the beginning of dark brown hair that points everywhere, color that at night or after a shower seems to be black.

"And why is it a secret? Are you ashamed of thinking that I’m beautiful?"

He is not ashamed, it’s a curse to think that Suna is beautiful because Suna knows that he is beautiful, everyone knows it. His thoughts are not original, and instead, they feel heavy, like a chain. Pull, and pull to keep from forgetting. His cheeks don't burn and his heart doesn't beat nervously, but no matter what he does, Suna never lets him forget that he's beautiful. Perhaps it’s a blessing, to be able to express out loud that Suna is beautiful, with Suna himself looking at him, his eyes fixed on him as well as his attention. He thinks he is the only one capable of doing it.

"No."

Suna looks at him, scans his face with that gold that Osamu considers hellish. Suna is a luxurious treasure that many can see but few touch, perhaps even nobody. Flashy, delusional, forbidden.

"I think you are handsome."

Osamu lets out the ghost of a laugh. "Thank you."

Suna hides, but doesn’t pretend.

Osamu Miya is the pride of every parent, a face so equal to that of his twin yet so different from him. Calm and doom, Suna believes that perhaps he has already gone mad. Everyone knows Osamu for his serious face because next to his brother he exists as if he doesn't know what a smiling expression is, but Suna has had way too many opportunities to know that Osamu smiles, and that when he does, how nice the world is, finally. A warm gesture that appears when he completes a recipe and the result is the same as the photo, sometimes even better. Suna looks but doesn’t read because it’s not necessary, because Osamu transmits with his expression as well as other times he shelters the dynamite that he hides behind his grayish eyes that are actually brown. Suna doesn’t know if he should consider himself lucky because he knows that Osamu smiling is not a one-time thing, or if he is actually cursed because the same smile appears every time to assure him that Osamu represents warmth.

"Can you tell me why you were in such a bad mood?"

He knows better than anyone that Osamu's warmth can transform into a storm. Flashy, tentative, dangerous. It's easy to tell when he’s angry because seriousness embraces him and not the kind of expression that makes him wonder what he's thinking. He thinks it’s ironic that everyone considers Osamu the calm brother when Suna knows that between Atsumu and Osamu, the second is the first to explode easier. Flames. Sparks. He can represent warm light, but also light at the end of darkness that is not actually an exit.

Osamu looks at him and Suna thinks he is in the eye of the storm.

"What didja do with my brother?"

"I told him that if he touched me, I would punch him."

Suna gives him an entertaining smile as Osamu lowers his gaze to his lips for the same reason. Thin lips of a natural pink tint, beauty can be lethal, isn't it? He looks up again and Suna keeps looking at him, not looking for hidden details. He just watches him, looks at him, keeping an eye on him is enough. "I don't think it's a secret that you think I'm beautiful." Suna decides to add.

"Why not?"

"A secret isn't supposed to be known by anyone, right?" Suna asks him and keeps talking because he doesn't need Osamu to nod. "Your brother knows, he mentioned... things. Stuff."

Osamu raises an eyebrow. "What things?" He asks, because Suna is pure seriousness and is still beautiful, because he mentions words that leave traces behind. "Things yer ashamed of?"

Suna wants to think about his answer but thinks he is actually tired of thinking. Liking someone is tiring, honestly. Tiring because he doesn’t stop thinking, imagining, daydreaming but also when he is asleep. It’s being incompetent when you try to distance yourself from your own thoughts, your head assuring you that there’s no solution other than accepting reality because denying it only hurts more. Looks, expressions, gestures. Suna has long accepted that he likes Osamu.

"Maybe." He decides to answer. What a silly and simple answer. "Maybe not." More silly and complicated. "It depends I guess."

"Of what?"

Suna blinks. Love is pain and pain is love.

Osamu is beautiful, too.

"Whatever happens."

"What d'you want to happen?"

Neither of them is surprised that both have lowered the volume of their voices without realizing it. When they are together the rest disappears. A training, a party, it doesn't matter. Only the two of them matter, looking at each other, feeling, suffering, their hearts beating calmly because they represent a mutual anchor but also with a bit of nervousness because emotions are always difficult, intriguing, intense.

Suna opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, and that innocent gesture is enough for Osamu to lower his gaze to his lips again. Suna wonders how strange the world is when looking down is a gesture strong enough to make him want to bite his lower lip. Don’t look at me. Look at me. What are you waiting for?

Osamu looks up again because Suna is a challenge that never ends.

"Is it a game?" Suna asks him, "I choose?"

A laugh is what Osamu wants to allow leaving his mouth but, "Tonight yer the guest, you choose," He says. He always lets Suna choose. On what shoulder to leave his head, what flavor of ice cream, what to do with him. What’s the difference? In any case, Osamu always says yes.

Suna exhales a breath, wondering if seven minutes in heaven with the wrong twin is enough to motivate him to go through seven lives in hell with the right twin. Warmth, heat, flames. Suna is burning but his cheeks are still as pale as the color of the moon that that night witnesses another of the many moments they have shared like that, looking at each other, hiding. Suna looks at him and his head hurts, his neck too because he keeps looking at Osamu.

"I want you to kiss me."

"If this is a game, you lose or win. You will have to restart everything again if you regret it. Ya sure?"

"Yes." Suna breathes.

Osamu moves, his body now brushing against Suna's. He takes Suna's chin between his thumb and index finger and becomes the hero of the game by leaning down, or perhaps the villain because his secret is no longer a secret and midnight is the right time to rest his lips on Suna’s for a second. And it's so sweet, and it's so smooth, and it's fleeting. Their mouths remain a millimeter apart and Osamu believes that the gold in Suna's eyes can freeze while Suna thinks that Osamu's grayish can turn into worn silver because looking at it ruins him.

"I want you to be honest while kissing me." Suna's whisper tickles his lips.

Osamu opens the palm of his hand on Suna’s cheek and realizes that Suna spending seven minutes in heaven with his brother is a fortunate action because the seven lives in hell with him is the only thing he can think of when their lips meet again. Suna's hand takes his arm as his prisoner as the tips of his fingers sink into the fabric of his hoodie. Their eyes are closed because sometimes feeling warm is the same as letting themselves feel like hell. It hurts, and it feels good, and they are satisfied because love hurts but trying to hide it even more.

They are no longer high school students, they will no longer share the same uniform or step on the same side of the court side by side, they are no longer teammates or classmates and therefore stretching together as well as turning towards each other to do homework together in class will no longer be possible.

But it doesn't matter because if they don't need memories, they don't need to worry about what the future has to offer. To be close is to be tempted and to be away is to suffer, and to be in the middle, to want to scream. They don’t know what they will do tomorrow, they don’t know what they will do in an hour, they don’t know what they will do in half an hour, they only know that the question 'What are you willing to do in the name of love?' has no meaning or importance because they have the power on it and can allow it to be born as well as disappear just as quickly.

It’s a game because one wins and one loses, or both win and both lose. Perhaps their new reality implies that they are no longer teammates, but they don’t care because snatching the victory from each other's hands is the best thing they can do if the same thing implies that kissing each other is the only goal they have in mind.

_Love is a game, all you have to do, is know how to play it._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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